Irreparable Damage
by Psycho Goddess
Summary: -The ride to Sara’s apartment was a silent affair.- A long overdue confession. [GS Post ep to Bloodlines]


**Title**: Irreparable Damage

**Summary**: -The ride to Sara's apartment was a silent affair.- A long overdue confession. [GS Post ep to Bloodlines]

**Pairings**: Grissom/Sara

**Rating**: PG 13

**Category**: Drama/Romance

**Author's Notes**: Okay, so this won't be as good as the amazing fics I know are coming from all those talented GS writers, but at least it was relatively fast. ;-)

**Disclaimer**: I don't own CSI, CBS, blah, blah, blah.

…………………………………

The ride to Sara's apartment was a silent affair. She sat in the passenger seat; head pressed against the window, staring with glazed eyes at the pedestrians they passed. He watched her from the corner of his eye, but she didn't move. Her apartment was only a ten minute drive from the station, but it seemed infinitely longer. When their destination was finally reached, he parked and came around to her door. Silently, she undid her belt and slid from the seat. Once out, she fumbled for her keys; Grissom eased them from her hand and took her arm.

"Two-oh-one," she said, letting him take the lead.

Her apartment was sparse, sufficient and devoid of personality. He was mildly surprised; he had expected a few photographs at least. He considered taking her hand again; reassuring her that everything was fine. Not good, but fine at least. She had been unresponsive the first time though, and he knew better than to push his luck. As lifeless as she appeared, he still suspected she could be a real spitfire if she got pissed enough.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"I was over the limit. I was taken in. End of story."

"God damn it, Sara!" he exclaimed, the anger that had simmered just below the surface rising. "That is _not_ the end of the story. What were you thinking?"

She pulled her coat off, a mask of cool control freezing her features.

"That's all you need, or want, to know. I made a mistake, I'll promise not to do it again. Won't change the fact I probably will, but whatever lets you sleep at night."

"Sara…" he couldn't remember the last time his tone was so desperate.

"You want the whole story, right? Appease your curious nature? Fine. Sit down, and be prepared for the facts. They aren't pretty, so don't say I didn't warn you."

He did as she ordered, apprehensive about what would come next. 'The whole story' could entail more then a few facts he didn't want to know, and he mentally braced himself for what he knew could come. Her voice was flat when she began, monotonous and detached.

"Drinking… it's a coping mechanism. I could rattle off some stats, if you'd like. No, you wouldn't, would you? Hate to see how the mighty have fallen. Fine then, here it is. Drinking… drinking makes it easier. I used to avoid it, because I knew the numbers. Then it got to the point where I really didn't care. It started innocently, I swear. Catherine took me out for beer after… well, after. Which was nice, girl bonding. One big cliché. Bitching over how unreliable men are, stupid cheating bastards.

"Then, then the lab blew up. I went to your office, and we both know how well that went. I just didn't want to be alone that night. Or any night for that matter, though I knew that was a lost cause. And you turned me down, I went home and I drank until I passed out. Then things were fine, up until Suzanne Kirkwood. I don't know if you know this, but she was in my car. Scared the hell out of me when I adjusted my rearview mirror. Then she ended up dead, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it."

She paused in her narrative, carefully gauging his reaction. When she didn't find utter disgust on his face, she shrugged. "You don't need to hear this."

"Yes, I do."

"You want a drink?" She asked, standing up. His expression prompted her to clarify, "coffee."

"No, I want you to sit down and keep talking."

"I want coffee," she said, heading for the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she continued. "There were a few other cases that I couldn't sleep after, and the alcohol made it easier. I've always been able to hold my liquor pretty well, so it let me sleep without affecting my work performance. Then came the pinnacle of bittersweet agony," she paused at this, running water into the pot and inserting a filter into the machine. "Debbie Marlin."

Even from the kitchen she heard his sharp intake of breath. She shook her head, flipping the switch. Neither one spoke while the coffeemaker gurgled to life. When it stopped, she brought him in a mug and sat on the other end of the couch.

"Let's not go down that route."

"Maybe we should Sara, clear these things up."

"Fine. I heard you, and I couldn't deal. Just, everything… everything was a mess," her voice cracked. "I always figured you didn't care, and that was my own damn problem. Then it's you can't _risk_ everything for me? Risk is a pretty messed up word. My God! It's not like I was asking you to settle down, have two point three kids and a minivan. I wasn't a risk, I was a sure thing. But you chose not to see it that way, and that's your prerogative."

"Sara, you are a risk."

"No, you let me be a risk to you. But that's neither here nor there, is it? So, yeah. Debbie Marlin. After that it was a fairly regular habit. I kept it under control. The only person to suspect anything was Brass."

"Brass?"

'The homicide captain was probably the person he least expected to know about this.

"Yeah…remember the Trent case? I had a few beers with breakfast, and he kind of caught on. Personal experience," she half-smiled at this, her first expression since the police station. "I kept it balanced, tried to cut down after that. I swear I never came into work when my judgment was impaired…."

"I know," he said quietly. And he did. No matter what, Sara's professionalism wasn't in question. Still, he shouldn't have missed something this important.

"Then, this whole thing with Linley…. I couldn't interview her, and I'm sure you can figure out why."

"I suspect."

"Boston, 1992. I ran almost a half a mile before I could bring myself to stop; my feet still have the scars to prove it."

He reached out then, brushing an errant lock of hair from her eyes. The compassion in his eyes told her what she needed to hear. It was alright, and he wouldn't bring the subject up again. His hand moved to her cheek, and she leaned into it. They paused there for a moment, a pantomime of epic proportions.

They eventually moved apart slightly, and Sara couldn't stop the hand that reached up and stroked the cheek still feeling his touch.

"I meant what I said about vacation; in fact, I insist on it," Grissom said after awhile. His tone brokered no arguments, and she was grateful.

"The papers are already on your desk, didn't you get them?"

"No. I was working on something else."

"You usually are," she said, defeated instead of accusatory.

"What happened to us Sara?"

"Life," she answered.

"We shouldn't have let it."

"Well, we can't change the fact that we did."

"Is there a chance we can fix _this_? Whatever _this_ is, because hell if I know."

"I don't think it's just us, Griss. The entire team's a mess, and I think that needs to be sorted out. But... yeah. I think we may be able to figure something out," she smiled.

"How about we go to Adventuredome tomorrow? It's the largest indoor double-loop, double-corkscrew roller coaster in America."

She grinned at his enthusiasm.

"Okay, but you're buying lunch."

"Deal," he smiled.

"I think I'm going to go to bed now, just let yourself out."

"Do you want me to stay? As a friend, I mean. Not as a boss."

She nodded her head.

"I'll go get you a blanket," she said, heading to a bedroom. She came out a moment later, a spare pillow and blanket in hand. "Good night, Grissom. And thanks."

She retreated to her inner sanctum again, and Grissom took out his cell phone. It took several rings for the person on the other end to pick up.

"Hey, Catherine?... I won't be in tonight, so you're boss…. Things are fine; something's just come up though…. Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow. Good bye."

He hung up, picked up the remote and turned on the TV. Nothing was on, but he didn't care. For the first time in a long while, he was seeing the truth. And it wasn't always pretty, but it was real. And it meant a lot more to him then the neat little packaged lie.

……...

-Fini-


End file.
